Leave Me Wordless
by moonlit-shadow0x
Summary: SEQUEL to “Speak To Me” Harry Potter is finding it hard to move on, but is finally exposing himself to the wizarding world. With a mind not full, but yearning, he tries to live his life as normally as he can, dreaming of Draco Malfoy every step of the way
1. Snowing Freckles

**Title: **Leave Me Wordless

**Rating: **M (male/male slash pairings, violent subject matter, language, mature subject matter etc…)

**Disclaimer: **J.K. Rowling is amazing and owns this wonderful world. I may own characters you don't' recognize, but they're hardly as interesting as Harry and Draco.

**Summary: **SEQUEL to "Speak To Me". Harry Potter is finding it hard to move on, but is finally exposing himself to the wizarding world. With a mind not full, but yearning, he tries to live his life as normally as he can, dreaming of Draco Malfoy every step of the way.

**Author's Silly Ramble: **The sequel you've been waiting for! Thanks for being so patient, and thank you for reading Speak To Me. I adore you all (and am keeping this short!) and hope you'll enjoy this story and where I take it. Full author's note at the bottom:)

**Chapter One: **Snowing freckles

x.x.x.x

Harry Potter walked along the streets of Diagon Alley with a purpose. His gloved hands were shoved inside the pockets of his deep green cloak and his boots clicked noisily on the sidewalk. Of course, the click of his shoes was hardly heard above the happy chattering of students shopping for Christmas gifts as they pushed past him, not without staring of course.

In fact, a little boy with dark brown hair and freckles scattered across his cheek bones stopped right beside him, just outside of Flourish and Blotts, and dropped his books in a stunned surprise.

"You're Harry Potter!" He cried, his eyes wide and a large smile on his face.

_That's what they say._

Harry cleared his throat, his dark green eyes flickering around the streets before landing on the blue eyes that belonged to the excited youth. "Er—Yeah. That's me."

_How do you know?_

This had been happening over the past few months continuously, as he had finally just started leaving his flat. Witches and wizards of all ages would stop him in his tracks and stare at him for minutes, before bowing or shaking his hand, their eyes either wide with enthuse or fluttering and teary with remorse and gratitude.

"Wow. Mum talks about you all the time." He paused, before his cheerful eyes suddenly darkened, "She'd really love to meet you, you know." There was suddenly a sullen mood that hung over them, and Harry shifted.

"Your… Mum?"

The boy nodded eagerly, before bending down to pick up his books. "Yeah, but I bet everyone would, really." He said, somewhat sheepishly. "My dad fought in the war you know, I'm not sure if you remember him… Gully Wynnes?"

Harry frowned, fingering some change in his cloak pocket, before swallowing thickly. He hadn't believed the war actually existed, until Hermione and Ron had sat him down and explained that the war memories that kept reoccurring in his mind were of importance, and were in fact, _real_. That there had been a war so tragic that millions of people had died all over the world and that Harry had been a huge aid.

A dark voice swam through his head, one that was somewhat amused and yet irritated. The sinister drawl elicited a shudder from his fragile body, and he clenched his fists just slightly.

_So cold. _

"_I know you thought you'd be the one to defeat me…"_

_There was no escape, nowhere to run. He'd fallen into Voldemort's trap and could feel the terror begin to paralyze him._

Harry's eyes closed briefly and the fabric of his cloak squeezed tighter between his clenched fists, before he slowly let his fingers release. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he looked back at the boy.

"I'm… I don't…"

He paused, the world somewhat disappearing behind a veil of his thoughts, and he realized there was so much to his past that he'd never know and never relive. Memories and people that were so important at one time, only to be wiped away, leaving no traces.

"I don't remember."

His voice was airy, wondering and at the same time, the tone of depression that lingered on the edge of his words was so forlorn that it seemed the entire alley had stilled as they left his mouth.

He couldn't hear anything except the own voices in his mind, telling him over and over, "_You're Harry Potter._"

Replaying images over and over…

_The snitch was so close that each flutter of its light wings cast a tiny breeze on the tips of his fingers. Just a few more inches and he'd be able to grasp it beneath his palm, curling his fingers around it possessively._

_He risked a glance behind him, and was met with the sneering and defeated face of a childhood rival. _

Blonde hair, so familiar, made Harry's breath catch in his throat, made every nerve in his body quiver with a feeling so electric and intensifying that he felt the very marrow of his bones ache with longing.

_A feeling of intense dislike, and the sudden urge to gloat…_

_Harry grinned at Draco Malfoy grimly, the snitch fluttering between his fingers. Then, with a quick turn of his broom, he was speeding off and leaving the Slytherin behind._

_Draco._

_Don't leave him,_

_Don't take him from me,_

_Please._

_Don't leave **me**_

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry's eyes snapped open and with a crashing realization, he found himself back in reality. Only… his usual daydream about Draco had been different this time…

It didn't consist of a secret room deep within the Hogwarts castle, or loving sneaky touches beneath a desk which held a bubbling cauldron. No hand holding or soft, warm embraces…

No feather-light kisses, so tender and hesitant that Harry almost forgot to breathe when thinking about them.

Instead, there had been the intense urge to cause Draco, _his _Draco—the boy of his dreams, unhealthy as it was to be helplessly in love with a fabrication developed by your own mind— utmost pain and humiliation. The impulse to gloat in Draco's face, for Gryffindor had won the House Cup because once again, the Slytherin had failed to prevent Harry Potter, the greatest seeker of his time, from reaching the snitch.

"Mr. Potter!" The voice insisted, the face that accompanied it was curious and tinged red with awkwardness.

Harry stared at the boy, before inclining his head slightly. "Erm—Sorry."

The boy's eyes widened and he shook his head, "Harry Potter … say sorry to _me_?" He looked suddenly extremely nervous, as if he didn't deserve anything like that from his hero.

Harry was beginning to feel a familiar ache rest itself in his stomach, and swallowed. "I—I have to go." He said abruptly, forgetting about Christmas presents completely.

The boy watched him retreat, his arms limp yet still managing to hold his books tightly against his chest. With a dazed look of pleasure on his face, he walked across the alley to the floo station that would take him home.

x.x.x.x

"Mathieu! How many times do I have to tell you not to take the floo? The underground route works just as well."

The dark-haired boy beamed as he climbed out of the fire, wiping off soot from his robes and not caring the least it landed in a messy pile at his feet, staining the cream rug. He dropped his books lifelessly onto the sofa next to him, collapsing promptly into the armchair facing the fireplace.

"Oh mum!" He cried, leaning his head against the rest. "It's not just a legend! Harry Potter has finally _shown_ himself. And the papers aren't lie!"

There was a clatter in the direction of the kitchen and a sharp intake of breath. A long pause came soon after, before the woman slowly emerged from the kitchen, holding a piece of the broken plate in her hand. "Now—Now Gully, don't go spreading rumors like that. You know Harry Potter hasn't been seen, aside from a few years ago at Hogwarts. Don't go bringing up people's hopes up, son."

Mathieu, or Gully as his mom called him, frowned. "No, mum! I saw him, I did! The papers are telling the truth, I swear! There have been sightings, I even… even asked him about dad."

Margaret Wynnes hurried to her son's side, sitting down quickly on the foot rest. "And?"

Mathieu's voice faltered, before he looked pointedly away, "he doesn't remember, but I reckon he worked with a lot of men, mum! You can't blame him."

The woman nodded, expecting as much. The connection to her husband severed, she sighed and leaned forward, resting a hand on her son's knee affectionately. Then, hoisting herself up, she moved back toward the kitchen. "Was he as nice as they say?"

The boy grinned to himself, "He's spectacular, mum! He really is a true hero!"

The woman laughed, the sound airily flowing from the kitchen. Mathieu smiled and picked up his books.

"Oh, Gully! Can you go check the woods for those pesky doxies? They've nested, I'm positive, nasty things they are!" She muttered, her voice disappearing as she began preparing dinner.

Mathieu groaned, but picked up the repellent from the closet and pulled on his boots. "Sure, mum, whatever you say."

Margaret smiled to herself, half-catching the cheeky smirk on her son's face before he closed the door behind him.

Her mind wheeled around her son, and she bit a lip in worry. "Don't go losing your wits on me now, Gully." She whispered to herself, thoroughly convinced the boy was making his Potter story up, hopefully from the excitement of the paper's stories.

x.x.x.x

"I hate snow." Mathieu mumbled to himself, kicking at the frosty substance with his foot. His voice was muffled by the Ravenclaw scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and his fingers only barely aware they were holding the can of repellent, adorned in thick black gloves.

A sound behind him caused him to turn around sharply and point the can of spray just in front of him. "Who's there!" His voice echoed around the woods, and he frowned walking closer to a cluster of trees. His feet crunched in the snow, and he cursed the winter for his lack of subtle sneakiness.

At once, a flutter of wings sped past him, along with a high-pitched cackle. Spinning around at once, Mathieu tripped over the roots of a tree and fell onto the snow, his face coated with it. Spitting it out, he jumped up and wiped his numbing face off with his hands.

"Bloody doxies! You get back here!"

A few more speeding sounds near his ears minutes later, and he found himself surrounded by six or more doxies. His eye twitched, before he held up the repellent. "Don't try anything… Or—Or, I'll spray!"

They seemed to laugh at him, swooping around him and causing him to fall back in the snow. "If I could use magic out of school," he cried, "You'd all be banished to the fiery pits of—"

A sudden flash of red light whizzed past his ear, and Mathieu groaned. "Don't tell me these woods are infested with skrewts as well." He said theatrically, crawling around to face whatever—whoever—it was.

"Who are you?"

The young man was leaning against a tree, his wand held at his side and his hair billowing in the wind. There was something about his frame that wasn't right, Mathieu decided, and he moved closer.

"Wait a minute, are you alright?" He asked with a raised eyebrow, moving closer still. "Did those doxies cause you to break something?"

The man looked back at Mathieu, and he gasped as he noticed bruises scattered across the pale face.

"Not quite," answered the drawling voice, before he blinked and slid down the tree he was leaning against.

The boy's eyes widened, and he ran to the man's side. "Hey! Wake up!"

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes slightly, before moaning. "I… Zabini." Mathieu frowned, before brightening. "Are you Blaise Zabini?" _Obviously crazy if that's what you think,_ he thought to himself, _Last I checked, the famous lawyer wasn't so blonde._

"Dimwit, you're as bad as Potter," Draco smiled slightly to himself, and Mathieu thought it looked like a desperately sorrowful smile. Then the man's purpling eyelids closed once more.

"Potter?" Mathieu stood up and shook the man. "Do you know Harry Potter?" With no answer, the brunette sighed heavily. Then, with a sidelong glance toward the man's wand, he picked it up and pointed it at the blonde.

With a quick incantation, Draco was hovering in the air and a panting Mathieu Wynnes led him back to his cottage.

x.x.x.x

**A/N: **Okay, this wasn't what you were expecting, right? I'm so happy for that! I want to try something new, and something exciting, and this is totally exciting for me right now! I've been working on this for a while, perfecting the chapter and the plotline… not wanting to post it until I was completely positive it was what I wanted… Because this is the sequel you all have been waiting for and I want to do Speak To Me justice!

Mathieu… He's an original character, and I hope you don't mind me just sneaking him in there… And before you ask, his father isn't of any importance to the story :P

I haven't written any of the further chapters just yet, so updates will be very sporadic. Physics is taking up a lot of my time, and I did horrible on an exam today, so school will occupy a lot of my time, unfortunately.

I really don't want to leave you hanging though! So I'm going to try to post once every month (I'll try really hard, I promise!) I'm setting a limit of 2 months maximum for myself, and you can all poke me with pointy sticks if I fail to stay within that timeframe.

I want this to be really nicely structured though, so go easy on me :P

Thank-you all so, so much for reading Speak To Me, and giving the sequel a chance! You loyal readers have been my inspiration and motivation, and also brighten up my day with your lovely comments, haha!

And as for new readers, I hope you enjoy this!

_Shadow_


	2. Get Rid Of It

**A/N: **Thanks for the positive feedback! I really do appreciate all of it, and will try my absolute hardest to reply to every one :)

**Chapter Two: **Get Rid Of It

x.x.x.x

"Don't worry, he'll be here; he's gone out alone a dozen times by now. You should be _happy_ about that, Hermione!"

Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully, before dropping aside the curtains from Harry's bedroom, and sitting back down on the desk fretfully.

"Oh, I know, Ron," she said softly with a sigh. "It's just—anything can happen to him while he's out there. He doesn't know how to handle his fans… Not to mention, I hardly think he's going to enjoy the attention." A brief smile lingered on her face. "He's not that different from the old Harry, you know."

"I know." Ron smiled back, before holding out a hand and leading Hermione down the stairs. "I think I heard the doorbell. Come on."

Hermione nodded, following him.

Harry entered the flat noiselessly, pushing past Ron and Hermione without as much as a hello before collapsing on the loveseat in the den. Hermione looked at Ron with wide, concerned eyes, but he only walked over and sat beside the former-Gryffindor.

"Harry?"

The young man rubbed his face, before threading his fingers in his hair. "Get rid of it."

Hermione took a few steps closer, her hands trembling at her sides. "Rid… of what, Harry?"

Harry let out a frustrated sob, shaking his head. "This feeling, make it go away."

Ron and Hermione looked suddenly awkward and guilty, and Hermione's eyes glazed over with tears. They both figured he was talking about his intense love for Draco, but never had he looked like he was in physical pain because of it. When he spoke about it, or dreamt about it, he usually looked his happiest. It was a time when the old Harry would appear for only a moment, emerald eyes sparkling and wide with enthusiasm.

Instead, Harry's breathing only grew harsh, and he repeated, "Get rid of it!"

"Harry, we're sorry we can't bring Draco to you—"

Harry's body stilled, before he looked back at Ron with dark, dazed eyes. "I feel like I hate him."

Hermione's eyes widened, and Ron looked startled. They both regained their composure after a moment, and Ron was brave enough to ask, "You feel like you hate Draco?"

Harry's eyes squeezed shut, and he once again placed his head in his arms. "Get rid of it."

Not knowing what to do, Ron looked at Hermione helplessly. She, however, looked ecstatic.

"Harry, did you rememb—Have you seen images of anything unusual, recently… maybe an explanation as to why you're feeling this way?"

Harry let his fingers fall to his sides, before they began to twist and lace together in his lap. Biting his lip, as though he felt ashamed, he looked away and muttered a quick _yes_.

Ron looked sympathetic, but Hermione only glanced at Harry hopefully, "Was it something like your war memories, Harry?" She asked gently, moving to sit on his other side and placed her hand over his. "Like a scene, or a replay of events or—"

"Yes." Harry said shortly, pulling his hand away. "But it can't have happened, like the war. Draco doesn't exist." His voice was oddly even as he said this, and he stood up from the sofa, his eyes looking horribly wet.

Then, he took in a large breath, before half-running to his room.

Ron stood up to follow him, but Hermione shook her head.

"Hermione, we could have asked about all that later—"

Shaking her head, the intelligent girl only smiled joyfully, "He saw something… something _real_."

"He sees plenty of real things," Ron replied frowning, "The war for instance."

"But this time it wasn't about the war! Ron, what if he's beginning to—to remember?"

Ron looked momentarily stunned, before a wide grin spread over his face. He looked towards Harry's room, before turning back to Hermione and the atmosphere suddenly brightened, a sense of hope traveling throughout the room.

"Should we go see if he saw anything else?"

Hermione bit her lip before pulling on her cloak. "Not now. I'm positive he wants to be alone, and there isn't anyway we're getting through those wards he put up."

Ron smiled broadly, "I reckon he doesn't even realize he's warded his room."

Opening the door, Hermione smiled back at him, "Hopefully soon, he will."

x.x.x.x

The canopy of his bed was a dull blue, as he had noted for the millionth time that hour.

Finally, he rolled over onto his side and let out a shuddering breath, his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

"I don't hate you. I _can't_ hate you."

His voice was growing breathless in between his tears, and he clenched his teeth. _Stop crying over something that isn't real_.

He ignored the voice in his head quite easily, instead whispering, "I love you," over and over.

He eventually stopped squirming in his bed, and his tears subsided soon after.

All that was left was the slight rustle of bedding as Harry breathed evenly in his sleep.

x.x.x.x

"_What are you doing here?"_

_Malfoy scowled at Harry's outburst and took a seat next to Snape as though he was absolutely welcome. _

_Lupin looked worriedly at Harry and Ron, who were halfway off their seats and glaring at the two Slytherins across from them. "Harry, you know everyone's welcome here—"_

"_Not him. He can't be."_

_There was a gasp of surprise as a few more Slytherins slipped into the room and sat near the grim-faced blonde. _

"_Professor Dumbledore, surely you can't allow them to just walk in here. They'll hear everything."_

_It wasn't an Order meeting, but it was a meeting the Order held for those who were on the light side and either needed protection, or wanted to disown their neutral status, to join the Order of the Phoenix._

_Being held at Remus Lupin's house, there wasn't much space and everyone was cramped together. Most Gryffindors looked revolted at being so close to their rivals. _

_Snape quieted the group, which consisted of a dozen or more from each house— other than Slytherin, which only had three or four. _

"_Mr. Malfoy, have you made your decision in regards to renouncing your neutrality in the war?"_

_Harry's eyes narrowed, and he stood from his seat, shouting, "You can't be serious! He'll join as a spy for Voldemort! Dumbledore—"_

"_Please take a seat, Harry." Remus said gently from beside him, and the Gryffindor sat down reluctantly, his jaw clenched hard._

_Draco gave him a more-than-dirty look, before turning back to Snape. "Yes, Professor." He said politely. "My father's just been killed by The Dark Lor—"_

"_That's what Wormtail calls him! Lupin, Dumbledore! You can't—"_

"_Mr. Potter! Quiet down this instance! Not everyone is as _mighty_ as you and speaks his name." Snape spat, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. _

_Harry bit his tongue, and burned red. _

_Draco continued as if the disruption hadn't happened, though his expression was clearly gloating. _

"—_Dark Lord. I have no inclination to join him, and now that my mother has gone missing due to depression," his voice grew heavier and there was genuine anger within their depths that even Harry couldn't claim was just good acting. "I am to make my own choices regarding my life. I have chosen to fight for your side, quite genuinely."_

_There was silence, and Theodore Knott stood up next. Draco's gaze seemed to level with his arm and he quickly looked away. "I need protection, from my father who is, unlike Draco's, unfortunately still alive." His eyes narrowed, and he sat back down, rubbing his arm subtly._

_No one noticed._

_A few more Slytherins stated their own comments, most of their parents being dead and having no other choice but to join the light side or face Voldemort at their young age. _

_Finally, Dumbledore nodded and stood up. "It seems we have a sincere group with us today," Harry snorted loudly, and Draco turned toward him with a deadly glare. "Those of you who need protection shall meet with Nymphadora Tonks tomorrow evening at headquarters, while those of you who still need to be questioned of your motives will meet with Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shacklebolt tomorrow evening where we are now…"_

_He continued on with his speech, ensuring those who were worried, while Harry stared at Malfoy angrily._

_The blonde stared back and both seemed to mouth "I hate you," almost simultaneously._

_This only angered them more, and they stonily looked away, their veins burning with loathing for the other. _

x.x.x.x

Waking up with a gasp, Mathieu abruptly sat up in his bed. He had experienced another nightmare about going back to Hogwarts, and although the school itself was pleasant, the Slytherins certainly were not.

Taking a deep breath, he shifted off the bed and quietly padded to the door, turning the knob gently. As soon as it opened, he ran down the stairs and into the kitchen, skidding to a halt and making sure he hadn't woken up his mother.

Of course, he had forgotten completely about their guest, and a set of mumbled words accompanied closely by a groan caused him to drop his cereal bowl with a sharp _clang_. Realizing it wasn't a ghoul or anything, and finally remembering their guest, Mathieu walked toward the living room and stared at the dazed man, fully-awake now, sheepishly.

"Er… morning…"

Draco sat up on the sofa, his eyes wide and his hands running over his body. "What? Where are my clothes?"

Mathieu raised an eyebrow, "You're wearing dad's nightclothes, and I know they're a bit big… They're not that hideous, get that look off your face."

The older of the two just seemed to notice there was someone else in the room with him, and mentally scolded himself for asking the least important question first. "Who are you? And where the _bloody hell_ am I?"

The younger boy ran a hand through his dark hair nervously, before walking a bit closer. "I'm Mathieu Wynnes…" He said slowly, as though the man had amnesia, not that he'd know who the young boy was anyway. "And I sort of just foun—"

"Wait a minute, did you say Wynnes?" Draco seemed to have forgotten his initial shock and worry, and his hands fell on top of his covers lifelessly.

The boy blinked, before nodding slightly. "Erm… yes?"

The blonde man sat up straight again, his mouth a grim line. His eyes were sympathetic as he tried to find words that were sensitive, yet strong at the same time. "I'm sorry for your loss. Graham Wynnes was a huge aid in the war, kept millions of people safe, you know."

It was the first time Mathieu had heard his father's full first name since the funeral, and he opened his mouth, though no words would leave it. Finally, he just slumped into the nearest seat beside him and swallowed.

"I know." He whispered, looking away from the blonde and keeping his gaze locked onto the ground. There was an awkward pause as Draco watched him carefully, before the boy looked up somewhat hopefully. "You knew him, then?"

The young man grimaced slightly, remembering how he had disliked nearly everyone he worked alongside with during the war. Their deaths had softened his outlook all those years ago, and one of the last standing men, Graham Wynnes, had grown to be a companion for the last few weeks of the man's life.

"He worked alongside Harry and me." Draco said evenly, his heart clenching as he said the name of the one he longed for so easily. "A good man, one of the most intelligent people I've ever met, and great in combat. Magic was only useful until a certain point. It was ironic to see the death eaters using Muggle Weapons when what they fought for was so against the very idea."

Mathieu's eyes met Draco's and he bit his lip. A silence enveloped them, until the boy sighed heavily and pulled his feet up onto the seat he was in.

"Are you alright?"

Draco looked surprised with the question and shrugged, "Fine, why?"

"Mum said you broke a few ribs, and had to use salve on your bruises." He grimaced, "Nasty bruises they were, too. She's no healer though, couldn't fix those ribs totally, but they should bother you less than before."

The blonde just seemed to realize where he was, and stood up rigidly, wincing slightly with the pain that dwindled through his body. "I need to find Blaise Zabini," he said quickly, spotting his clothes and wand on the foot rest and throwing his cloak around him.

The boy looked at him disbelievingly. "You're going to look for Zabini at nearly five in the morning, and you're expecting him to welcome you into his home graciously? He's one of those nasty ministry lawyers, spoiled too, I bet. He'll also probably have that disturbing woman around, that one he's marrying in a few weeks—You know? Always wearing those gigantic hats—and you're brave enough to disturb him? I don't think so! If you can be beaten up so badly by a couple of doxies, you're no match for that cranky git."

Draco raised an eyebrow, as the boy stared at him knowingly. Finally, with a long suffering sigh, Draco sat back down. "You're going to lead me to him tomorrow then, since you obviously know everything about him."

Mathieu shrugged, holding back a yawn. "Everyone does, he makes the front page nearly as much as Harry Potter."

"Harry?" Draco said suddenly, "Do they say where he is? The papers, I mean."

The boy shook his head, "'Course not! There have only been random sightings, you see. You probably think he's still in Mungo's like everyone else, but he actually has been seen! In fact, I saw him earlier today, just before I found you—"

"He was at Hogwarts just over a year ago." Draco cut in, "Released from his ward."

Mathieu rolled his eyes, "Everyone knows that. But he hadn't been seen since his wizard graduation and he ran off as soon as it was over. Everyone expects he's gone back into care… all those except the few that have seen him of course." He said importantly.

Draco let this information sink in, before muttering to himself. "It'll be impossible to find him now."

Mathieu missed this, and instead continue to ramble on about how he had met Harry Potter. Finally, he turned back to Draco and cocked his head to one side.

"Now, it's your turn." He said, sitting back down. "Who are _you_, exactly?"

Draco contemplated telling the boy a fake name, but decided against it. Being back so near to the place he grew up, he was certain he'd be recognized at some point. "Draco Malfoy, heir of the Malfoy fortune, which unfortunately is nonexistent at this point." He paused, before glancing calculatingly at the young boy. "And you should know it wasn't those pesky doxies that broke my ribs…."

Mathieu frowned, and Draco sighed, "Which is why I need to find Zabini as soon as possible."

The youth bit his lip, before looking out the window, his gaze lingering on the trees of the woods.

"If you're a criminal the Ministry's after—"

Draco let out a bark of laughter, before shaking his head. "Not at all." He looked over at the boy seriously, before leaning back down on the sofa, "I just have some close ties with important people is all."

His expression grew dark as the night, and Mathieu felt suddenly quite afraid.

x.x.x.x

**A/N: **Thank you all very much for the feedback! I'm glad you all don't have any complaints about the changes, and hope you like the chapter:)

This is actually really enjoyable to write, so expect another update soon!

If you have any suggestions, please let me know! I appreciate constructive criticism as well ;)

Shadow


	3. Or So We Think

_**Disclaimer: **A recreation of a favourite works results in fangirl fanfiction. Therefore, nothing you recognize is mine, and probably a lot of which you don't recognize isn't mine either. Well aren't I just a little bundle of creativity. _

_**Warnings: **Slash, male/male situations. Language—maybe—and violence as well._

_**Authors Note: **I really wrote a novel on my end-author's note, so you probably don't want to have to hear my awful ramblings twice ;) Hope you enjoy, and thank you so much for the reviews! They really make me swell with pride and other feelings, which I can pretty much pin down to adoration for you all at this moment._

_Replies are sent through complex technology and email boxes! _

**Chapter Three: **Or So We Think

x.x.x.x

Draco stared at the manor, his eyes traveling across the stone walls and down to the neatly kempt gardens, scattered with an array of exotic looking plant-life. His gaze lingered on one of the garden benches momentarily, before he clenched his teeth and looked abruptly away.

"I always knew Zabini had some old money within his reach." He said shortly, turning back to Mathieu, "Never expected it to have collected so much over the years, though."

The youth shrugged, rubbing his hands together to gather some warmth. "I doubt he'll be in the mood for visitors at seven in the morning."

The blonde smirked, stepping past Mathieu and heading for the gates determinedly. His stride was slightly less menacing, however, due to the dull ache in his ribs. "That Zabini's had it good these past few months," he muttered, his eyes flashing.

Mathieu's eyes widened as he hurried to catch up. "You're not planning on… assassinating him or anything, are you?" There was obvious disbelief in his eyes, yet a trickle of curiosity.

Draco stopped suddenly and sent Mathieu a slight look of annoyance. "Honestly, if that were the case, would I bring you along?"

The boy made a face, looking away and walking closer to the steps that led to the front door. "…Could've tried to keep me hostage," he mumbled.

With a quick roll of his eyes, Draco reached the door and paused, regarding it carefully. Then, almost nervously, he sucked in a breath and hit the knocker. There was a sharp thud that rang out around them, and Mathieu glanced around the street anxiously.

After a few seconds of silence, where Draco was almost certain he wasn't breathing, the door opened smoothly. The figure that greeted him, however, wasn't Zabini himself, but a tall blonde woman who stared at him as though he were most unwelcome.

"He has already said that he will not answer anymore questions on the Rolland case—"

Draco cut off her slightly accented voice, and tilted his chin superiorly in air. "Yes, well, tell _him_ that Draco Malfoy needs to see him quite urgently, and will most-definitely not take no for an answer." The woman looked surprised, before narrowing her eyes. Just as her mouth opened once more, he decided to add a highly impolite "Please."

"I don't just let strangers into my house, Mr. Malfoy—"

A hand landed gracefully on her shoulder as the door was opened entirely. Blaise Zabini gazed at Draco stonily for a moment, before looking back at the woman.

"Strangers?" Smiling without a hint of humor, Blaise turned back to Draco. "Celina, I'd like you to meet a very good _friend _of mine—Draco Malfoy."

Then, pulling himself aside, he left the doorway clear for the two visitors to enter.

x.x.x.x

Blaise stared at his tea for a long moment, before folding his hands and watching Draco stare determinedly back at him. "None of us Slytherins could fathom the idea of you leaving without graduating, Draco." He said suddenly, looking at the blonde with a raised eyebrow. "Parkinson was in hysterics. Snape seemed severely disappointed.—"

Draco was absolutely sure what was going to come next, so he narrowed his eyes and slammed his cup down on the polished table.

"Potter was—"

"I hadn't come over for pleasantries and small talk, Zabini." Draco cut off sharply, the steady beat within his chest becoming somewhat heavier.

Blaise raised slightly in his seat, looking down at Draco with contemplative gaze. "Well see, Malfoy, I hadn't expected someone I haven't seen for nearly a year to drop by my house while I was still in my nightclothes. Excuse me if I'm still trying to figure out exactly what you're doing in my dining room."

Mathieu watched both of the men nervously, his cold hands cupping his teacup protectively. His eyes trailed from Blaise to Draco slowly.

"I hadn't expected to be here either, Blaise." Draco said harshly, running a frustrated hand through his hair. "I hadn't expected to return to London at all." His lip jaw visibly clenched before he took a long sip of his tea.

Blaise considered this, before leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples soothingly. "Then why are you here? Potter's disappeared—"

"I'm not here for Potter." Draco finally snapped, his tea beginning to bubble.

Arching an eyebrow elegantly, and looking mildly interested, Blaise leaned forward slightly. "Not for a visit with old friends either, by the looks of it," he was growing impatient.

A small smirk lifted at the corners of Draco's lips and he let his hold tighten on the teacup. "Actually, the entire reason I'm here is because of a particular visit from an old friend." He looked completely dangerous, and Mathieu sat sullenly beside the two, wondering why on earth he had ever agreed to step foot outside his house with someone who was obviously crazy.

"…Oh?" Interests peaked more than ever, Blaise leaned in even closer, and cutting the small boy completely from the two Slytherin's personal speaking space.

"Even you must remember Theodore Nott." Draco said with flashing eyes.

x.x.x.x

Chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip, Harry watched a few students stumble out of a largely decorated Quidditch shop, holding numerous wrapped boxes. The shining lights reminded him clearly of the previous Christmas and a small room where most of his winter nights were spent.

Naturally, as the snow fluttered toward the ground, Harry couldn't help the painful swell in his chest and the familiar burn behind his eyes. His fantasies of Draco were quickly disappearing, replaced, instead, by strange sceneries where more injuries took place than slow kisses.

Shoving his gloved hands into his pockets, he let out a deep sigh and willed himself to continue walking. To plaster a smile on his face and pretend to know why people stared at him and why he couldn't remember the war they so readily praised him for.

It was a long while before Harry realized he had been walking well past the normal busy hours of Diagon Alley, and that the sun had set. Coming to a slow stop, he glanced around nervously, vaguely registering that Hermione would be frantic with worry at his late return. He found himself rebelling slightly at the witch, even though between the frustrated helplessness he knew there was a part of him that wanted to remember her; a part of him that wanted to love her without the binds of oblivion.

A sudden sting of wind brushed across his cheeks and he shivered, ignoring the eerie noises of the Alley where suspicious warlocks let out shrieks of laughter. In fact, it was when he was walking just past a group of men, all hiding beneath cloaks and hoods, that he found himself most anxious. His steps were quick and heavy, leaving deep imprints on the snow as he tried to look nonchalant and keep his gaze just ahead of him.

A few whispers sounded behind him, and just as soon as Harry thought he was clear and safe, a soft pair of feet padded behind him. Almost pausing in his movements, though not daring to stop for even a minute, Harry ignored it, his heart rate quickening.

_Just another Harry Potter fan. I should just tell the lot of them that I'm clueless, that their savior is nothing but a fraud. A mental fraud, no less, _he reasoned with himself, rubbing the back of his neck as his footsteps quickened suddenly.

The soft clip of the figure behind him also kept pace, the noise of his shoes hitting the snow becoming infinitely louder. In fact, it seemed it had been joined by more footsteps, all of them thundering behind Harry as he tried desperately to will them away.

_Another fantasy, _he tried again. _Another memory… I'll wake up in no time, and this will all just be a very horrible piece of my past._

Very horrible indeed, he decided, as a calloused hand gripped his shoulder smoothly.

Acting on impulse, a Gryffindor at heart if not totally at mind, Harry ripped away from the hold and began to run. He didn't dare look behind him, afraid to see a swarm of figures running toward him…afraid to relive flashes of blood and the putrid smell of death that had so often been replaying over and over in his mind.

Pairs of feet roared behind him, at least four or five full grown, healthy wizards. Harry let out a large breath before resuming his panting and running, somewhat surprised at how fast he was even with his horrible eating habits.

_Running. The forest's thick clusters of leaves swatted against his face, obscuring his vision as his glasses bumped over his nose insistently. His fingers grasped a drooping branch, flinging it from his path as he looked behind his shoulder and at Ron's terrified, pale face as the boy ran after him._

_A large spider, incredible in size and strength, turned a corner sharply, appearing just behind Ron's fretful form._

Harry suddenly staggered, rearing back at the sudden return to reality and finding himself faced with not a swarm of starving spiders, but cloaked figures with wands aiming at him confidently.

"Give up, Potter."

Harry narrowed his eyes, leaning subconsciously forward as he tried to recognize the voice that seemed vaguely familiar. "Wha—who—"

"Speaking, are you?" A dry laugh emerged from a figure to his far left. "Malfoy manage to cure you alright then?"

_Malfoy._

_The blonde raised his arms at Malkin's instructions with a bored look in his eye as he turned his head toward the eleven-year-old boy who just screamed Gryffindor. Turning away from the emerald gaze, he let out a lazy, arrogant, drawl._

_Later on the train, the same blonde stared at him with much more interest, eyes shamelessly boring into his forehead._

_Holding out a smooth hand, he said in an equally silky voice— "Draco Malfoy."_

x.x.x.x

Zabini coughed suddenly, choking on his tea. "He's dead."

Mathieu, never having heard of the mentioned person, looked confusedly toward his Slytherin companion. The male was only smirking dangerously once more.

"Or so we think.

x.x.x.x

Harry's vision blurred as a sharp pain hit his side, combined with the failure of his mind to grasp reality versus fantasy. Clutching at his hip, he vaguely registered the Alley's grimy floor as he slid down onto it, scratching pale skin on bumpy rocks.

"Malfoy…?"

The figures loomed closer, more spells on the tips of their tongues.

"So weak, and to think… You were the one who defeated our lord."

Widening his eyes, Harry moved back though found he was tightly bound by ropes that had come slithering from another wand. He longed to shout that they had the wrong guy, that the helpless and dirt-covered boy was nothing more than a shell. A body of where the boy-who-lived used to reside.

"_Crucio!_"

Another spell hit him and he let out a gasp as pain climbed up each and everyone one of his limbs, breaking what little resolve he had left.

_Cold._

_Harry stared up at the red eyes as his body twisted in unbearable ways, his insides churning as warm blood rushed up and clogged his throat. A humorous laugh filled the room, chilling his restraining bones as they fought to bend under the hideous spell._

_Tom Riddle grinned, showing himself within the shadows. His eyes were still blood red, the gaze of a serpent lingering on Harry's mutilating form._

"_No, Harry. Luck will definitely not save you this time." The voice was less cold, less humored and angrier. There was a vicious edge to it, as if Harry had been pinned beneath the blunt edge of a sword and suddenly exposed to the sharp, dangerous tip._

_A strangled moan released itself from Harry's throat as he went over his training, trying to discover a solution in which all seemed futile. Closing his eyes tightly shut, more so than before, he sprawled across the floor as his legs jittered with inexplicable pain._

_Biting the inside of his cheeks until more blood was gathering at his throat, Harry pushed himself up for long enough to empty the metallic liquid from his mouth so he wouldn't choke. To choke on his own blood would be the worst death of all, the most unsatisfying to everyone who waited outside the spindly castle, holding their breath and nearly crumbling with hope._

_So cold._

"_You've escaped me for sixteen years, Harry," the voice continued smoothly, Riddle stepping over Harry's writhing body. "And to think, this is all it will take to **finish you**_."

_The spell intensified, sending Harry into an oblivion as he gasped and moaned, his eyelids peeled open as even the vessels within them seemed to explode in pain._

_And then, as soon as he felt he was on the brink of death, it was over. Harry's body lolled toward the ground and he turned toward Riddle's wide, furious eyes._

_They looked surprised, his red eyes glinting with sudden vehemence. "Why did it stop?" He hissed, watching Harry's eyes spark with rage._

"_Because, Tom," Harry nearly screeched, his voice raspy. "Neither can live while the other survives."_

_His lips turned upwards almost dangerously, eyes narrowed and teeth looking razor sharp. It was as if he had undergone a transformation within the time under the __Cruciatus Curse, when in fact nothing about him had grown stronger but his will._

"_And," he stared up at Riddle challengingly, "I don't plan on letting you live."_

x.x.x.x

Blaise didn't move in his seat, only glanced at Draco curiously, even near suspiciously. "That doesn't make sense, I—I witnessed his death myself."

"There are plenty of ways someone can escape a burning building, Zabini."

Blaise's eyes narrowed and he stood up from his seat abruptly. "It still doesn't make sense. Why would he hide? He has nothing to hide from… Nothing to hide _for_."

Draco's dark grin was enough to quiet the young man.

"Except revenge."

x.x.x.x

**Authors Note: **You're all thinking: One update a month my ass! Haha. Okay, I lied a tiny bit :( I'm extremely busy failing physics at the moment, so it's hard to get in writing time between the stress and studying, along with the frantic hysterics over a haircut!

I'm really quite nervous when it comes to cutting my hair. How vain. I'll soothe myself with images of Draco preening.

But in any case, this chapter was very filler, as you can probably tell. And I know what it's like to read a story, greatly anticipating the reunion of Draco and Harry and then deciding to get a few projectiles to throw at the author when she makes you wait three chapters already.

It's a coming, I'm sorry it's taking ages :P

Drop a review if you can, and I'll reply using that spiffy reply option. If I miss you, as it's harder to keep track this way, please tell me in a review as I find replying to reviews an important part of my writing. :)

Hope you liked it, feel free to critize.

-Shadow.


	4. Impossible Magic

"Why did you release the spell?"

The furious voice rang throughout the air, and one of the cloaked figures looked down to his wand, brow wrinkled in astonishment. "Sir… Sir, I…" He trailed off, turning to the quivering body on the ground. "I didn't."

Who was seemingly the leader walked forward, eyes narrowing behind his wretched mask. The warm body jerked as the after effects of the spell took him over, and the man kicked at the boy's side. "Weakling!" He said to the figure who had wielded the Cruciatus curse.

Pulling out his own wand, he aimed it forward, his mouth opening to utter the curse that would rid the world of Harry Potter forever.

Emerald eyes blinked open rapidly, before landing on the wand aimed at his face. His jaw clenched, and he raised an arm in the air suddenly, eyes fierce. Before the man could even notice the boy had awakened, much less utter the first syllable, Harry reacted.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The wand instantly flew into his hand, and pulled himself up with vigor, not missing the stunned gaze of his captors. Wandless magic was something that was not unheard of, especially with such simple spells, but none had been expecting Harry to have the strength to pull anything above whimpering in a wounded way, off.

The wand was heavy in Harry's grip, the wood strangely familiar, and he pulled it in front of him. His eyes flashed brightly for a moment, before he all but screeched,

"_Relashio!_"

Sparks rained down from his wand, the strength of the spell causing a blinding flash for many moments. The ones which landed on the few, unfortunate, men left singing marks, causing them to let out their own shrieks.

The bright light was enough to alert probably more than half the village, and Harry narrowed his eyes, his entire body aching. The wand rolled out of his hand, and he only vaguely heard the retreating footsteps of the foreboding men in the distance, before he staggered away, realisation slowly fogging his head.

_Magic? I… couldn't have…_

Then, he fell away into unconsciousness.

x.x.x.x

Mathieu grimaced at the two men in front of him who had kept their heads together and talked in hushed voices with one another. They were walking exceptionally fast, and the young boy found it incredibly hard to catch up.

"Excuse me?" He said, finally fed up, hoping his voice would reach the ignorant Ministry Law Officers.

Unlike the usual Diagon Alley guards, Ministry Officials had been loitering around the village all morning, and Mathieu's curiosity had reached its limit.

"Ex_cuse_ me, sir?" He finally tugged on the robes behind the taller one, an older man looking at him with a frown.

"Yes?" He said impatiently, obviously looking as though he had an agenda to get to.

Mathieu was a bit flustered then, not quite sure how to voice his curiosity _and_ manage to get a response. Finally, he smirked slightly and pointed to Zabini and Malfoy who were just stepping out of the Apothecary. "See Mr. Zabini over there? He sent me along to request a brief interview. He's working on this case that happened recently around here…"

He hoped his vague interpretation of events would be enough to at least intrigue the officers, and the shorter, younger one raised an eyebrow. Blaise was obviously an esteemed lawyer in the wizarding world, and the underdog was well-ready to prove himself.

"It couldn't hurt, Luther." He said with a shrug. "We have at least an hour or so before we have to report back our inspection."

The one named Luther narrowed his eyes at Mathieu, before nodding. "Right then. Lead the way, boy." His gruff voice caused Mathieu to rear back a bit intimidated, before nodding.

x.x.x.x

Malfoy stared at the boy blankly; his clenching fists the only indication of his anger. "You're lucky Zabini is good at acting on the spot."

Mathieu made a face, before shaking his head. "I was curious… aren't you? Diagon Alley has never been in such a state. They'd tell Zabini anything, he's got everyone tied around his finger."

Draco rolled his eyes, before they flickered in his old-friend's direction. The expression on Blaise's face was mildly astounded on the exterior, but Draco could tell he was, quite frankly, stunned.

A frown crossed Draco's handsome features, and he looked back at the boy suspiciously. "Blaise looks troubled. It can't possibly be that bad…" His eyes suddenly widened. "Unless they're suspicious of me?" It wasn't too huge of a deal, but as Deatheater support groups still littered the wizarding world, he was a prime suspect after his sudden disappearance.

"I hardly doubt you'd cause such a stir, Malfoy." Zabini's cool voice startled the blond from behind, and he narrowed his eyes.

"You'd be surprised at how blood-thirsty the Ministry can get." He turned around and faced the dark eyes of his former companion. They looked severely troubled, and Draco leaned forward. "What is it?"

"There was an attack on the small passageway leading from Diagon Alley to Knocturnalley." He said at once, his voice grave. His dark gaze flickered to Mathieu as the boy stared wide-eyed at the two.

"Perhaps we should go someplace a little more private? Where we can discuss matters without being so easily overheard."

Draco nodded in agreement, moving to hold the Leaky Cauldron doors open for the other two, one who was looking extremely grim while the other curious.

The doors slammed shut, and they disappeared into the bustling streets.

x.x.x.x

Ron walked out of the shop, petting Hermione's hair at an odd angle as she continued to sob helplessly.

"We shouldn't have ever let him out of our sight!" She said, sniffing warily and looking over to Ron, who was seemingly preoccupied with something. "Ron?"

The ginger-haired boy snapped out of his reverie, his brows unknotting and a reassuring expression lingering on his face. "It'll be alright, Hermione. He's strong."

There was no possible way he had just seen Draco Malfoy walking into a shop, followed by two Ministry Officials.

x.x.x.x

Mathieu's cottage had turned out to be the nearest house, and Mrs. Wynnes was overwhelmed with having Malfoy and Zabini, two very confident-looking wizards, in her home. Setting a tray on the coffee table, she wrung her hands together nervously, her wide eyes searching her son's.

The boy only shook his head, indicating she should go. She frowned, pursing her lips, before obliging. Draco smirked, watching her go.

"You better follow her over there, Mathieu." He said coolly, taking a sip of his tea. "This isn't anything such young children should hear."

The boy stared indignantly at the blond, before grumbling as he trudged up the stairs after his mother.

Draco set down his teacup once there was silence and stared at Zabini. "An attack,' he said simply, crossing one leg over the other. Meetings over tea had seemingly become his and Blaise's way of communicating.

Blaise looked reluctant to further explain, before nodding. "You must know how big of a deal this is. There hasn't been an attack of this size since He-Who-Mus—"

"Voldemort."

Draco's sharp voice cut in, and Blaise looked away.

"Yes, him. There hasn't been an attack since _him_. And now, to have an entire alley way showing signs of a planned attack? They found…" He trailed off, gulping down his tea quickly, the liquid burning his throat. "Death-eater masks, Draco. Three of them, and from what Ministry has gathered, there were at least seven attackers."

The blond narrowed his eyes, looking bemused. "That doesn't make sense. They can't have been Deatheater masks." He stated flatly.

"They have them in for evidence, Draco." Blaise said frustrated. "Deatheater masks, at a time like this—"

"Nott wouldn't use Deatheater masks. He has too much against Voldemort and Harry alike."

Blaise looked meekly surprised that the blond had finally mentioned Potter, before he placed his teacup on the sickly tea-cozies. "Draco, I'm beginning to feel this entire Nott thing is getting out of hand. I'm afraid all this time away must've given you a lot of time on your own to come up with such farfetched theories—"

"He must be wearing the Deatheater uniforms so that the Ministry isn't aware of the presence of another vandal group." He said suddenly, pulling out a parchment and writing down what seemed to come to mind. "That way, if he ever got discovered—like he has—he has basically a clean slate, able to come out as a new group away from the Deatheater façade."

Blaise blinked. "Why, I do believe you're almost as out of your mind as Pott—"

The teacups quivered violently as Draco lunged over the table, finally spilling over and shattering on the coffee table. Fisting the collar of Zabini's robes, Draco snarled. "He wasn't out of his mind." He hissed, growing more angered at the smirk of Blaise's lips.

"It's Potter, isn't it?"

Draco narrowed his eyes, his grip faltering as he heard footsteps running down the stairs.

"Theo's not seeking revenge after you, he's seeking revenge after Potter."

The Malfoy's mouth opened as if to deny the statement, but immediately shut as he pushed the Slytherin away. Mrs. Wynnes let out a dismayed gasp as she hurried over, sending the boys a reprimanding look.

Malfoy clenched his jaw, feeling his muscles tighten, before looking at Margaret with an apologetic expression. "Dreadfully sorry." Glancing at Zabini, he moved toward the door. "I'm afraid I must be heading out, in any case. Goodnight Mrs. Wynnes, Mathieu. Zabini."

And he quickly threw open the door, disappearing into the snow.

x.x.x.x

Theodore Nott had desperately been seeking revenge ever since the War had ended. He had not felt inclined to join either side, hoping to stay neutral, but under instruction of his father, he had been branded with a hideous mark—that moment deciding his destiny.

Draco mulled over this information, along with the meeting Theodore had graced his him merely a month ago.

"_Draco, what a pleasant surprise."_

_The blond looked up from his whiskey, frowning. The bar he was sitting at was isolated in one of the less-crowded tourism cities of Egypt. However, the voice hadn't startled him, but the name he was called. Everyone around there had known him as Antony._

_Turning around, his fingers drumming the glass, he arched an impeccable eyebrow. "Well, well, if it isn't Nott." He smirked dangerously, sliding a glass over to the seat next to him, inviting the boy to sit._

"_What are you doing in Egypt? Not a job, it seems, considering you didn't even graduate."_

_Malfoy straightened his robes, looking at Nott with a winning smile. "Actually, you're wrong, Theodore. I'm quite a respected calligraphic interpreter. You'd be surprised at the messages hidden in those pyramid walls." He paused, his air of superiority evident and Nott was feeling it, judging by his faltering expression._

"_Yes, well." He narrowed his eyes. "I'm sure you've heard of Potter's disappearance?"_

_Draco's smile vanished at once and he leaned forward. "Disappearance?"_

_Theodore was back in power, and he leered. "Oh, don't tell me you were left in the dark? How unfortunate…" Finally taking a seat, he sipped the whiskey slowly, sending Malfoy a challenging gaze._

"_When?"_

"_Right after graduation, actually. There was a running joke in the Slytherin Common Room that he had left to meet you… but little did you know…"_

_Patience was thinning, and Draco scowled. "What didn't I know, Nott? Enlighten me, I insist."_

"_The poor thing had turned into a recluse once you left, Draco. What a selfish thing of you to do."_

_The blond's hands slipped off his glass, and he turned to Nott with a wondering expression. "Recluse?"_

"_Ah yes… but I'm not here to talk about that." He suddenly slid his glass back toward the edge of the table when cloaked figures entered the bar noisily. A number of spells were shot at the few lingering customers, and Draco felt binds slither across his wrists._

"_Do you remember when you promised me that being traitorous to The Dark Lord was a good idea, and that that old man Dumbledore would keep me safe?" He spat dangerously, his wand raised. _

_He remembered quite clearly, taking Theodore to the initiation meeting, though he was reluctant. His arm had singed horribly, and Draco had promised that Nott would be kept safe under the Light Side. His father's death and lack of self-satisfaction after the war had ended had left him bitter, resenting both Harry and Voldemort for starting such a feud._

"_I'd never have to go through this pain!" He screeched, his hand unconsciously meeting the arm that was marked, even though it had long faded. "If it weren't for Riddle and Potter."_

_He pointed the wand at Draco's neck, his musty breath flickering over the nearly-pitying gaze. "One's been killed, but my revenge isn't over."_

_He left Draco bound on the bar table, the door chiming shut behind his final words._

"_Potter is still alive."_

x.x.x.x

**A/N: **Hmmm… Well, not much to say about this, except I'm sorry about taking so long to post another chapter. Thank you very, very much for your reviews :) I hope you liked the chapter!

Reviews that had no email or reply link are answered here!

**Rinchan: **Aww, thank you! I'd love to write and sell books! I'm hoping to publish a book in the next two years, actually! It's a personal goal of mine, haha ;)

**Mou: **Heh, Harry hasn't got a clue about using magic… Although he's aware of it now, using it would require knowledge of spells and since his ordeal had taken place when he was in his seventh year, there wasn't much time for him to retake lessons. Quite frankly, he wasn't interested either, being such a remorseful shell now… And you were totally right about being isolated, which seemed a bit farfetched, so after a bit of thought, I decided to make it the alleyway between Knocturnalley and Diagon Alley. It's admittedly a lot more isolated there, and if strange happenings occur, people are less likely to question it, right? (Thanks for catching that! I'm appreciative of your criticism :) Last of all, as I've hoped I sort of sorted out in this chapter, the Deatheaters hadn't attacked in over a year, and everyone was certain without their Lord, they'd never be confident enough to do so. Plus, Harry is trying to be strong and independent, having Hermione trailing behind him wouldn't help the healing process too much, I don't think. More about the magic is going to be explained in further chapters though. (And I'm totally sorry for making this reply nearly as long as the chapter, haha!) Thanks tons for the review!

**Animmage: **I hope you're not failing physics! It's a horrible thing, that subject… eugh! But, I'm retaking it, unfortunately :( I can't wait till they meet either ;)


	5. Better Than Fantasy

**Better Than Fantasy**

x.x.x.x

Abandoned.

That was the first thought that entered Harry's mind when he found the cottage. It was small and looked cozy – or at least, like it would have been back when it wasn't worn down – with frosty windows that still managed to make the wreck look seasonal. He wasnt too intent on appearances, anyway. After all, the ambush had not only left his robes ragged, but his mind just as torn.

The door wouldn't budge open. It creaked and tittered for minutes until Harry pried it away from the rest of the building. Rotting floorboards protested against his weight as he stumbled aimlessly across the cottage, eyes squinted carefully in an attempt to keep out light from his vision.

It was all unclear and foggy. Magic wasn't surreal to him any longer – not with the huge realizations of what Hogwarts actually was all those months ago. He had admitted to himself that he would never perform spells, as all his schooling had been forgotten and was actually relieved of the fact. It was magic, after all, that caused all the painful memories to begin with.

Confusion had settled immediately after he had regained consciousness, the wand inches away from his face, pressed flat against rocks and dirt. The sound of footsteps and yelling voices echoed through his ears, while brooms whistled above his head. It was then that the fear consumed him, causing him to spring up off the ground and run. Run away from the pressing questions that Ron and Hermione would definitely ask about his ability to cast spells. They would see it as a breakthrough –something that would bring the real Harry – their Harry – back to them. Harry thought it was impossible and dangerous.

The woods were nestled closer to Knocturnalley than he would have preferred, but with limited options, he found himself running straight into the clustered trees. Blinding himself to all his emotions, he forced the memories he experienced that night to the back of his mind and focused on his unknown destination –

Which happened to be an abandoned cottage.

Throwing himself onto half a cupboard, he stared at his fingers that were numb with cold. A couple of old artifacts crumbled to the floor as he shifted in an attempt to stay comfortable, breaking Harry from the thoughts in his mind that focused on Madam Malkin, of all witches.

He could remember her now; cheerful, but stern with her needles. Every set of Harry's robes was a Malkin creation – he was a loyal customer, next to only one other who had flourished robes for every occasion. Draco Malfoy, the slick-haired, eleven-year old boy who had nothing but contempt for Hagrid and Gryffindors in general. The thought sent a shiver of disgust down Harry's spine as he remembered the nasty things the ferret would say about Ron's family.

Along with the surge of disgust, there was a sort of roaring feeling of vengeance. It was Draco's fault Harry was kicked off the Quidditch team, after all. And the reason of Hagrid's trouble with Buckbeak.

Not to mention, the separation of Dumbledores's Army had been directly related to the snickering blonde.

A sharp pain sidled at Harry's temple, and he groaned with his head nestled deep within his arms. He had imagined Draco, and even his own creation ended up a monster.

But then, a painfully vivid memory of Draco's worried grey eyes surfaced and Harry sucked in a sharp breath. He could almost feel gentle fingers grazing down his cheek, while a blonde fringe accidentally tangled with his dark-in-contrast eyelashes. Draco's voice was nothing like the bored drawl of the prim child in Madam Malkin's, but instead a soft note of reassurance that would clench hope into Harry.

The kiss that would often follow such words was soft to match the atmosphere. Uncertain but devoted.

Washing away his feelings, Harry sighed as snow escaped through the rotting ceiling. A few flakes dusted across his hair, and he was strangely reminded of butterflies.

x.x.x.x

Blaise stared at the Daily Prophet keenly, his breakfast growing cold in front of him. His fiancé was no where to be found – probably spending all his galleons on new outfits as a punishment for neglecting her – and he was thankful. She would think of him mental, much like the newly spotted Potter, if she caught him staring at the old clipping of the Leaky Cauldron.

Theodore Nott had lost all his possessions when it became a known fact that his father was a Deatheater. Not many knew of his own secret mark, but it was useless in any case, as he had no great possessions of his sole ownership.

After his graduation, Theodore had taken up residence at the Leaky Cauldron which was still slightly over his budget. Working for the innkeeper, he had often called Blaise over for lunch to complain about Draco, mostly. He was the one, after all, that promised Theodore that is life would stay in tact if he joined the right side.

His rants continued to escalate and grow more vengeful. He even indulged Blaise in the fact that he had finally located Draco's position, somewhere in Africa, and was planning to finally make the blonde pay. It had been soon after his shared secret that the tragedy took place.

The Leaky Cauldron was, as most buildings in Diagon Alley, connected to the floo network. It was this detail and Theodore's lack of concern about the pub in general that numerous newspapers, including the Daily Prophet, pegged as the reason for the incident. A fire had started slowly from the kitchens, and sixteen wizards had been killed, including Tom the innkeeper.

Although Nott was never the most friendly and remorseful character after the war, instead becoming bitter and ungrateful, Blaise couldn't imagine the lanky boy planning the delusion of his untimely death. Nor could he imagine Theodore, wizard on the light side, killing nearly twenty wizards in one of the most renowned pubs in Diagon Alley. Even sodding Draco Malfoy, Slytherin's latest bleeding heart, would be more believable in committing such an act.

Fingering the edge of the clipping, Blaise shook his head with an audible sigh that alerted three of his house-elves, all frenzied with concern. _Theodore Nott,_ he rolled his eyes. _Still driving Malfoy crazy, even in death._

x.x.x.x

The only thing that kept Draco from turning around and returning to Egypt and his indistinct life was Harry. It was futile to not admit such a thing now and pretend he was only trying to warn the world of Theodore's plans. He never particularly cared for the general public, only entering the war on his father's behalf. He admitted that he'd lied to himself long enough and it was plainly obvious to Blaise what his true intentions were.

Potter was a menace. In all his years of school, the Gryffindor's annoyance had been like a nagging headache that no potion could fight off. In fact, it would have stayed that way forever if Harry had refrained from entering the Great Hall all those months ago, eyes wide with intensity and bright with fear. He could have lived with the Daily Prophet publishing photographs of Harry's reluctant frame if he hadn't had to witness it in flesh. Most importantly, though, he would have been able to glance at everything scornfully if it wasn't for his own severe concern for Harry – a concern that should never have built up in the first place.

It was maddening to hear that Harry was once again living void of his memories without Draco there to comfort him. He wondered vaguely if Nott was serious in proclaiming the brunette had become a recluse once more at the news of Draco's departure, or if Harry even remembered him at all. He was almost disgusted with himself when he caught himself hoping that it was true and that he was needed again as Harry's support.

But even with his untimely revelations, Draco could not bring himself to swallow his pride with Blaise and drink tea calmly in a strange boy's house. It had been difficult for him to do ever since his first year in Slytherin, and though he had eventually gained the boy's respect it was becoming increasingly hard to keep it.

Storming out of the cottage and into the snow seemed like a pleasant idea at the time, until Draco realized he was pathetically lost. He vaguely remembered the woods from when Mathieu saved him from a momentarily collapse after he had been ambushed by what he suspected was Nott's group.

Wearily, he entered the forest once more and hoped to Merlin he wouldn't get lost. The attack in Diagon Alley had left him suspicious and with the sensation of feeling vulnerable. It also came to dawn on him that he had no place to stay after storming out on the Wynnes and Zabini. He often cursed his pride at times like these, but because of his rage and worry, couldn't bother himself to at that moment.

The brush and trees wound across his path, forcing him to find another route as if a path had already been made just a bit earlier. Intent on believing that the most dangerous thing in these woods doxies, he flung aside a lofty tree branch and stepped into a circular clearing of trees.

Immediately, he let out a long sigh of relief at the cottage that was situated in the exact middle. It was worn down and teetering on the edge of collapse – obviously abandoned. He could easily fix it up a little and stay in its comfort until he figured out what the hell he was going to do.

Snow crunched underneath his boots as he walked down the path, frozen strands of hair falling into his eyes. The prospect of warmth being so closed seemed to make the cold feel more unbearable than before and he broke out into a run, hand outstretched toward the doorknob.

The room was blissfully empty. There were no signs of life, especially because the rotting roof was sending tendrils of spiraling snow down onto the dirt floor. He figured the wood had been eaten long ago.

He took off his heavy cloak, trying to get used to the temperature of the room. It was built with proper amounts of insulation and other than the gooseflesh that appeared all over his arms, he was more comfortable than he had been outside. The howling of the wind reached his ears and he realised a few of the windows were broken and allowing in strong currents of cold air. Draco scowled a bit as he tried to lift a heavy plank of wood to cover it.

"Bloody useless," he muttered under his breath, panting and letting the makeshift cover fall back to the ground. He pulled out his wand, taking an extra look around to make sure the cottage was really empty, and levitated the wood to the window. The wind was blocked instantly.

The ceiling still let snow drop onto his already frozen hair and he looked around for anything that wouldn't collapse to cover some of the holes. He had almost given up, all the spare pieces of material both covered with snow and too drenched to be of any help, or rotting just as badly, when a loud noise caught his attention.

Draco's eyes widened. He wasn't too fond of mice or other wood-like rodents and pulled out his wand quicker than he would have against Theodore.

His eyes squinted when he realised there was a figure at the door, shadows moving in the small cracks. He was almost sorry he was going to have to hex the cottage's owner, but he was always more interested in his own safety before others.

Unless it was Harry. He'd risk his neck ten times over for Harry.

When the door first open, Draco was convinced he was seeing things. His wand had dropped right to the ground, which would prove to be a stupid move later when he would need to find it again, yet his fist was still hovering in the air.

"Er, sorry. Is this cottage yours?"

Draco frowned at once. "What?"

Harry, his cheeks flushed and his glasses fogged up with frost, was holding what looked like newly chopped wood and brambles in his arms. "Um. It looked abandoned, sorry if I intruded." He lost his balance and his hold on some of his materials as his expression became terrified. "I'll leave right away, don't call the police, please." He was turning his frame as if actually going to walk away carrying what looked like millions – to Draco anyway – of pounds of tree in his hands.

"What?" Draco repeated again dumbly. He was shocked – obviously so much that he couldn't form any other words even with his most extensive vocabulary. "_What_?"

Harry finally dropped the wood, running hands through his hair. "Look, I'd really appreciate it if I could, um, stay here… maybe. I'll fix the roof, even. And I'll get my own food…"

Draco was floored. He immediately knew Theodore had tricked him – Harry seemed as fine as ever. He was chopping wood and eating now, and even speaking more than Draco. "Harry," the blond finally mustered, his expression growing dismal. "You don't have to pretend you don't know me. This isn't my cottage; I could care less what you do."

Even with his heart suddenly echoing in his ears and his limbs feeling too wary to stand, Draco knew he couldn't be near Harry. Not after a year of suppressing whatever feelings that were now threatening to choke him. "In fact, I think –" Draco's fist clenched, "I should go."

Harry was stunned again, leaning against the doorframe with his head tilted to one side. "What?" It was his turn to be shocked, apparently. "Wait, how do you know my name?" Even Harry knew that it was a stupid question. Who didn't know his name? Taking off his glasses and wiping the fog on his frozen jacket, Harry frowned. "Sorry, I can barely see you."

Panic was all Draco could feel when Harry's hands reached up to throw his glasses back on his nose. He still had a chance to walk away unidentified. Unthinkingly, he lunged at Harry with a frantic expression on his face, landing on the shorter boy unceremoniously. The glasses were knocked far away, and for a second Draco was certain they broke.

Frightened was the best way to explain Harry's expression. His glossy eyes were wide open, frozen eyelashes framing them in a way that made him look like the epitome of innocence. Even his mouth was open slightly, warm breath escaping his parted lips, chapped from the cold. His shaggy black hair was splayed unkempt on the frozen ground that was a striking contrast to his body.

Draco swallowed. He realised his mistake because up this close, Harry wouldn't need his glasses to identify him. His own eyes were dazed, shocked grey irises relaxing into a needy silver as his lips hovered just above Harry's.

"Draco?" Harry's voice was strained, barely above a whisper. His chest was heaving erratically, as if he couldn't decide whether to breathe or not.

The blond didn't reply. Instead, he dipped his head forward and caught Harry's lips in a warm kiss, the cold atmosphere disappearing behind the veil of desire that crept up their bodies. Harry's cold nose bumped against his own as green eyes fell closed after brightening feverishly. A loud exhale left Draco's mouth as their lips parted for a brief second, before pale hands caught flushed cheeks in a gentle grip.

Harry's body shuddered beneath him, his chin tilting up as Draco placed moist kisses just under his lip. A longing that the blond had tried to hide for too long was quickly surfacing and he met Harry's lips again, his frozen fingers curving against the brunet's ears.

A whimper broke out from between their lips and Harry's eyes fluttered open, his swollen lips pulling away from Draco's. The blond's grip was tight, unwilling to let Harry go no matter what state of mind he was in. Though he didn't attempt to untangle himself from Draco's embrace, but his eyes washed over the flushed blond with a wave of uncertainty.

Draco slanted his head, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth sweetly. Harry made another soft sound deep in his throat before taking in a deep inhale of air.

"It feels real," he murmured, his eyes fighting to stay open for a few brief seconds before closing.

The blond, unable to keep himself away, kissed Harry's warm cheek and then let his lips trail back to Harry's mouth. He placed two soft kisses against swollen lips before tilting Harry's face down to kiss velvety eyelids. "Real," he repeated with a strange laugh emitting from his throat. "It's better than real, Harry. It's even better than fantasy." His grip tightened and Harry opened his eyes.

They caught each other's gazes. When Harry finally smiled, Draco grinned back, too happy to feel selfish about wanting Harry to need him.

"Better than fantasy," Harry echoed, his lips reaching forward to catch Draco's again.

x.x.x.x

**A/N: **This really took way too long! I'm so sorry! I just couldn't write out the proper way for them to act when they met even though I had the scene repeating in my head. Eck! Well, for anyone still reading, I'm sorry about the huge pause. I'll try to be less of a jerk with my updates, heh…

Thank you much for the reviews! I love you all, even more than coffee in the morning. (Bold statement, I know)

And for anyone interested, I have some original slash work posted on AFF. The link is in my profile… it's a bit more daring because the rules are a bit broader, but if you're up for it, check it out:)

Once again, thank you for reading. Until next time,

Shadow


	6. Sacrifice

The wind nuzzled Harry's body as he slept

The wind nuzzled Harry's body as he slept. Like a chilly blanket, it cascaded over his bones and lulled him into eventually waking in shivers. Green eyes blinked open, weary still with sleep, yet glistening with the soft sheen of longing and bliss – the look one had after waking from a particularly good dream. His bare arms, pale and achy from the cold, were wrapped securely around his cloak and he yawned expansively, forcing himself to sit.

After the unbearable and perplexing cruelty his imagination had decided to grace him with for the past few days, waking from a dream where Draco was not a snide enemy left Harry feeling especially elated. He grinned marginally, eyes a bit somber with the twist of his gut that wished for everything to be real, and played with the hem of his t-shirt. He wasn't absolutely sure of where he was, but remembered the incident of the day before. With Draco's sudden appearance in what was supposedly a true occurrence, Harry was finding it increasingly difficult to distinguish between what was real and what was fantasy.

But he couldn't dwell on that. He was freezing, lost and most-probably in unfathomable trouble – if not with attackers, then with Hermione.

Sliding off the makeshift bed, which was actually a tangle of damp, wooden planks that did not look at all sturdy, Harry threw on his cloak. The thick material covered his soft skin and he inhaled slowly, still feeling spots on his chest and shoulder buzz excitedly with the lingering presence of Draco's ghostly kisses. He relished in the feeling for a minute, remembering the feel of Draco's lips and memorizing it.

He wondered about Draco's words. Better than fantasy. Draco was fantasy – could anything be better than Draco?

Harry had almost made it to the door when he was deterred by a loud clattering noise from behind him. Sucking in a sharp breath, his startled heart thumping hard in his chest, the boy spun around and widened his eyes at the limb swinging desperately over the ledge of what once was a window. It hung mildly for another second, before a grunt echoed in the empty cottage and gloved fingers clutched the ledge to hoist a lean body through the opening.

"The snow's blocked us in – the door's impossible to use." Draco picked up the wood he'd flung through the window that Harry realised was the culprit for the initial clatter.

His mouth opened to respond, vibrant eyes staring at the other with something so excruciatingly close to hope. No words left him, though, as it seemed his brain was too fixated on slowing down his worrisome heartbeat, thumping at an unhealthy rate, to focus on words. All that left Harry's mouth was a choked gasp.

Draco smiled kindly. Shaking snowflakes out of his hair, he walked up to Harry cautiously and cupped his face in a gloved palm. "Sorry I left." His voice was meek, crowded by uncertainty. "You looked so cold, Harry... I suppose my protective instincts from last year kicked in," he smirked gently, palm sliding down to the base of Harry's neck. "I went looking for wood to start a fire and would've been back before you woke up if the snow wasn't as thick as Weasley's skull."

Harry exhaled, the line between fantasy and reality fading. "You're not real." He said stubbornly, pulling his chin away. He never had control of his actions in his dreams before – it was more like watching a film, not acting in one. The entire experience puzzled him.

The blond was silent for a minute. Then, he took a step closer to Harry, but didn't allow himself to touch the boy. "I promise this is real, Harry." So sincere were his incredibly stormy eyes that Harry believed him. He knew he'd have to suffer the regret and longing when he woke up from another dream, but believing Draco felt too good.

After Harry's slow nod, Draco's serious expression faded into one of inquiry. He tilted his head forward, kissing the corner of Harry's mouth sweetly, and Harry let out a shuddering breath.

"Why did you leave?" Harry whispered suddenly. Draco stiffened slightly and though it was obvious he didn't want to, he pulled away from the other boy. Almost immediately, he pulled off his gloves and began working on building a fire, lost in thought.

"Because." Draco stared at the flickers of small flames. "You had a life, Harry – you have a life. It's waiting for you deep inside your mind," turning around to face the agonizingly trusting face, Draco continued. "It still exists in your heart. And I'm not part of that life."

Harry moved to sit next to the morose figure, their thighs brushing. "My old life?"

The blond didn't respond but continued magicking wet blocks of wood in attempts to start a flame. Draco was Harry's new life – a life filled with sorrow and despair, dampened only minutely by tender moments of love. His old life was filled with normalcy... with friends and laughter. With a different kind of love.

The soft laugh that escaped Harry caused Draco to frown. "Draco," the ruffled boy started with a roguish grin that Ron would have been ecstatic to see, "How is that possible? If it exists in my heart, there is no way you aren't a part of it." Maneuvering himself so he was facing Draco, forcing the former Slytherin to drop the wooden blocks, Harry placed a hand over Draco's torso, where he felt the gentle hammering of his heart. "You're not only a part of my heart, Draco. You're all of it."

Draco felt a heady stir in his chest and wrapped arms around Harry's slender frame. He was selfish and he knew it. "You shouldn't have done it, Harry."

The messy-haired boy, looking so lost yet so comfortable at the same time, pressed himself into Draco's embrace. "Done what?" He murmured.

"Returned to this state of mind. You can't keep running away when things get tough – I understand you needed to forget the war for a while, and I understand that you think you need me. But you don't. You feel that way solely because I was the only one there for a while." Draco tightened his grip and Harry's cheek grazed his own.

"Then why do you feel this way?" He whispered. Draco sighed slowly, but Harry didn't let it deter him. "If I feel this way because you were the only one there, why do you feel the same?"

Draco had no answer. Instead, he kissed the brunet slowly, and Harry's breath hitched. Lips molded against his, fingers caressing his hips softly as shivers crawled up his spine. A tongue slithered slowly against his bottom lip before Draco pulled away to kiss tenderly at the curve of his chin and slowly downward, pressing warm lips down the arc of his neck. It was always remarkable to Harry how gentle Draco was, even in his dreams.

"How did you forget again, Harry?" Draco asked with a hint of misery. "Why did you forget again?"

Harry broke away from the embrace, his eyes clouded in hard smoke as he fought to remember. "You left a tingle on my lips," he began cautiously. "The snow began to melt, and I was losing you. I couldn't afford to lose you. Dumbledore understood."

Draco's brows creased in confusion. "Dumbledore...?"

Harry nodded, looking exhausted. "He understands love."

Draco wasn't sure what Harry was remembering, but when lips kissed him tentatively, shyly and with desire that mirrored his own, Draco found himself uncaring about anything but that exact moment.

Love. Draco smiled against Harry's lips, crushing the timid body against his own.

x.x.x.x

"Zabini?" Hermione opened the door to Harry's flat, glancing curiously at the Ministry lawyer.

Blaise leaned breathlessly against the doorframe, one of his eyes swollen.

"Listen, Granger. Listen closely." Blaise pushed himself away from the doorway and invited himself inside the small flat. "I think it's time we had a chat – has Draco been here to see you recently?"

The name sent a grueling chill down her spine. "What are you talking about? I haven't seen Draco in months –"

Ron appeared at her side, his mouth a grim line. "What in Hades is going on, Zabini? Tell me right now if it was Draco that abducted Harry."

The lawyer scoffed, dragging his battered body onto the sofa with its awful print. "We can only hope, Weasley."

The ginger-haired Weasley narrowed his eyes, a hand moving to rest calmly on Hermione's shoulder. Blaise smirked, though it pained his cut lip. "Do both of you remember the incident at the Leaky Cauldron not too long ago?" Both nodded curtly, a grim expression on their faces. "Twelve dead; a tragedy and a bloody mess at the courts."

"Sixteen." Hermione said shortly.

Blaise had been counting on that. He laughed, leaning back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling, looking crazed. "Fifteen."

Ron's presence was clearly impatient. "What's going on, Zabini?"

"Theodore Nott," Blaise shook his head, as if in a stupor. "Is very much alive. As well as three others that had been reported innocent victims in the fire."

The couple stared at each other, shocked. Hermione seemed to not believe him. "I can't believe you've barged in here when Harry's missing just to pull some nonsense prank –"

Blaise's smile faded. "Prank? You think this is a bloody prank?" Standing up shakily, Blaise pointed to his bloodied face. "Hell, I suspected Weasley to be this daft, but not you."

Ron's face flared in anger. "How do you expect us to believe something like this?"

Zabini clenched his teeth. "Because you want to find Potter. Draco's gone missing, too... and that idiot, Mathieu." He added as an after thought.

"Where is he?" Hermione cut in. Her eyes were resolute. "Nott. Where is he?"

Blaise swallowed hard. "He could be anywhere. A couple of masked figures attacked me on my way to the office this morning. His face might've been hidden, but mark my words – I can recognize that voice anywhere."

"I can't imagine Nott would return to being a Deatheater. He hated Voldemort... I know that much is certain." Hermione was throwing on her cloak while Ron worked on locking the front door.

"Oh, he isn't. It's all a ruse. He tried to get Draco's location out of me, and Hell, I probably would have given it after all that torture, but I don't have a bloody clue where he is."

"Does anyone?" Hermione said, somewhat bewildered. She noticed Roan looking guiltily away.

Blaise smiled eerily, as if revealing a deep secret. "Didn't you know? Malfoy is back."

Both Hermione and Ron wondered what the full implications of that statement would end up being with Harry roaming the streets alone.

x.x.x.x

Draco felt an absurd sense of déjà vu as he held Harry's warm figure in his arms. He had managed to get a fire going, and the colour of it glowed nicely off Harry's sleeping face. He missed Harry needing him. He missed Harry.

Nuzzling the boy's warm skin, he allowed himself a small smile. It might take a few more nights of convincing Harry he was real – that whatever those morons back at Hogwarts had told him wasn't true, and that he wasn't just a figment of his imagination – but he was willing to spend the rest of his life persuading the boy.

Nott didn't have a chance of hurting Harry. Not with Draco around.

The daze of sleep washing over him disappeared instantly. Heavy thudding reached his ears and Harry woke up blearily next to him. The sound grew louder until finally the door caved inwards and fell through. The first thing Draco saw was an unconscious Mathieu.

The next was the masked figure that held the young boy by his collar.

"Deatheaters?" Harry asked quietly, a firmness in his voice that could only belong to the old Gryffindor trying to get through. "They can't – Voldemort's gone –"

Draco watched Mathieu's limp form with hard eyes. "Let him go." He whispered quietly. He imagined Mathieu's mother and dread washed over him.

"Not unless Potter comes with me." The voice was unfamiliar, yet laced with a dark sort of amusement.

Draco's grip on Harry tightened. He felt his heart wrench out of his ribcage. But Harry's reaction was different. Green eyes lit on fire and a jaw set itself in determination.

When Harry stood up, disentangling himself Draco's embrace, he looked exactly like he had the day he walked into Tom Riddle's home. The old Harry. Draco swallowed, standing up after him and catching his wrist.

Harry shook it off and turned to smile at his worried companion. It was strained. Then, he looked back at the Deatheater. "I'll come. Let the boy go."

The Deatheater didn't comply until Harry was in his reach. Then he shoved the boy aside and gripped Harry's collar instead. Draco immediately scrambled up, pulling out his wand and aiming it at the cloaked figure.

It was no use, however. He was trapped between the fate of an eleven year old, and the fate of the only boy he'd ever cared for. When he saw the man's wand pressed against Mathieu's temple, he couldn't ignore Harry's furious gaze. No matter what state of mind Harry was in, he was always the same god-damned person.

The moment he lowered his wand he felt his entire body stiffen with the need to fight back.

But Harry was Harry. And Harry always gave up his life so easily for those around him.

When Blaise, Ron and Hermione arrived, it was already too late. Draco was huddled next to the fire, a blank look in his eyes, while Mathieu stretched unaware beside him, sleeping.

"Nott," Draco said slowly, meeting Blaise's eyes. "I'll kill him myself."

Blaise knew better than to doubt the Malfoy heir.

x.x.x.x

**Author's Note**: I'm sorry it's so painfully short. And so very, very late. I really thought I had no more Harry Potter influence left in me, which is a saddening thought, but I was struck with incredible inspiration today.

The response for this fic is incredible. I'm so happy that my HP muse hasn't given up on me.

Readers, reviewers and critics. You're all amazing!


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